


That Catch of Breath

by CorvusCorvidae



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvusCorvidae/pseuds/CorvusCorvidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a dorm room is never easy, and slowly but surely, you begin to lose all semblance of privacy. </p><p>Or, Lexa wakes to Clarke panting in the middle of the night, and her first thought is the girl must be unwell. Her second thought should send her straight to hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Catch of Breath

*0*0*

Privacy was a thing of the past when you moved into your college dorm room. It was a twin room, two beds, two people, and the intimacy that came with living with someone, with a stranger, was exceedingly hard to grasp at first.

An accidental flashing here, stupidly ignoring the sock on the door there, getting drunk and forgetting about all the boundaries here, becoming comfortable with one another and getting changed in front of the other there. The lack of privacy was part and parcel of college life for you now, and it really shouldn’t have been an issue that you’d seen your roommate, Clarke, naked so many times.

It shouldn’t have been an issue. It should not have been an issue.

But it was.

It had become an issue.

You weren’t blind, you weren’t an idiot either; Clarke was attractive.

Stunningly attractive.

She was the type of girl that made you feel self-conscious in her presence, and she had charm and wit about her that made you uneasy. She was exactly the type of girl you crushed on, flirted with, and slept with. So living with her, that was not good. Clarke had to be off limits. She was your roommate, she was not some girl you were going to hit on at a party and fuck in the upstairs bathroom. No matter how attractive she was, and no matter how badly you were convinced she occasionally flirted with you.

It wasn’t anything serious, just a few comments here, the odd look there, and a tension in the air whenever it happened. Teasing smiles, heat on cheeks, licking of lips, and one of you finding the sense to stop it.

So you were doing your best to put Clarke in the off limits zone, even if that was hard as hell when she wandered around the room in a towel hunting for clothes. The towel wasn’t even long. It was mid thigh at most, and then she’d bend, and you were in heaven and hell at the same time, and your textbooks became the most interesting thing so your eyes didn’t stray.

You only had to make it through the year, and then you would live apart from Clarke, away from her easy smile and delectable looking lips.

It would be easier.

And you’d get your privacy back.

To be fair, it had all been manageable.

There had been nothing major.

Until now.

You had been asleep, enjoying the peacefulness it offered, when a thump woke you. Today had been so hard, you’d spent a lot of hours cramming over books and preparing for your upcoming essays. You probably had over worked yourself, but that was why you’d gone to bed early. That was why you were curled up, warm in your bed, sleeping away your fatigue. But that thump woke you.

You fought back a groan at the fright it gave you. Your heart was racing, and you wanted to bitch to Clarke, even wake her, too, if she had knocked her laptop off her bed again in the night. Why she slept with the damn thing was beyond you, but she did, and this wasn’t the first time it had hit the floor. Only, when you opened your eyes, gradually adjusting to the darkness, you could make out that there was no laptop on the floor, and Clarke did in fact look to be awake.

Well, maybe.

She was face down, sort of panting into the pillow, and you wondered if she was okay, was she going to be sick?

And then the penny finally dropped.

Fuck.

Clarke’s breath was catching, her mouth falling open, and one hand clenching the pillow, the other missing from sight, but that unmistakable grinding of her hips gave her away; and you had never been so turned on and so terrified at the same damn time.

Is this what she did when you slept? Is this how she relieved all that tension? You knew she had stopped sleeping with that idiot over in the Mecha building, but you didn’t think about how she was getting her rocks off since then. It was better for your sanity if you stopped imagining Clarke in those scenarios, because she was your roommate; your very attractive roommate who was masturbating less than six feet away from you.

You were fucked.

Okay, you just needed to go back to sleep. Go back to sleep. That was easy. That was so easy. You were sleeping a moment ago, you could go right back to that.

Easy.

Except it wasn’t.

She sounded breathy, and now it felt like you had supersonic fucking hearing, because you could even hear the slight whine and catch of her breath as she neared orgasm, and then it was like she pushed it away, prolonging the torture. And why, Clarke, why? Why prolong the torture for the both of you?!

Clenching your eyes shut, you rolled, facing the wall, and heard nothing. Clarke had stopped. Was she done? Had she finished? No, you shouldn’t be asking that. Shut up and go to sleep.

And then the covers rustled, and Clarke’s panting returned and fuck.

She wasn’t finished.

This had to be the worst. This had to be the worst. This had to be the worst.

And then it got worse.

You could hear almost everything! The panting. The whimpering. The sheets rustling. Her hand. Her hand. Her hand! God.

Clarke’s intensity grew, and her panting picked up, and you found your head turning ever so slightly, staring at the ceiling, but able to see her body jutting against the bed, intensity growing, frantic movements, and holy hell, Clarke, just come for fucks sake.

Then she did.

Her whimper was louder, then quickly cut off, as if remembering she wasn’t alone, and then a slight groan as she slumped into the bed.

Thank god.

But you were still awake, wide awake, and it was clear Clarke was dozing right off into slumber.

Lucky fuck.

Sighing, you rolled yourself onto your stomach, burying your head in the pillow, and tried to block out everything you’d just heard and seen.

You needed to forget.

You needed to forget.

To forget.

Eventually, you fell asleep with a wetness between your thighs, an ache deep in your belly, and fantasies of Clarke Griffin coming beneath your fingers.

It was awful.

It was perfect.

*0*0*

The next morning, you were back at the library, dropping your bag into a chair, sitting into one yourself, and shooting Anya a smile as you did so. She nodded back, hardly lifting her gaze from the books. But then she did a double take, and you tried to hide under her gaze. Her pen went down. Her book was pushed back a little. She sat back in the chair.

You knew it was coming.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, and you pretended to ignore her, while you opened up your books and pulled out what you needed. A swift kick to the shin, and that had your attention.

“What?” you barked, knowing you were definitely going to bruise. Fucking Anya.

“Did you get any sleep? You look exhausted.” You were exhausted. You were.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you grumbled, shaking your head, and trying hard to ignore the heat on your cheeks.

“What happened?” Anya laughed, leaning over the desk now, looking far too eager. She could smell blood in the water and was on the hunt.

“What part of ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ did you not understand?” you repeated, tucking your legs out the way incase she got any ideas.

“Oh come on,” Anya shot back, rolling her eyes at you.

Could you tell her? Could you really do that to Clarke? Could you humiliate yourself like that?

“Did you have a sex dream about your hot roommate?” Anya teased, and you fought a wince.

She was right, but still missing a main part of the puzzle. The heat on your cheeks intensified, and Anya barked out a laugh.

“Holy shit, you did.” Anya’s delight was painful for you.

“Shut up.” You hoped that Anya would take pity on you and leave it alone, but she didn’t.

“So you’ve not banged her yet?” Fighting an eye roll, you shot her a glare.

“No.” Though God, you really wished you had.

“Shame.” You thought so too. Turning back to your books, you hoped to focus and get to work, but Anya didn’t pick up her pen again. “So, what you going to do about it?” she then said, and you tried not to sigh.

“What?”

“Are you going to ask her out?” Anya added, and could this conversation end already?

“She’s my roommate,” you pointed out, feeling like she was forgetting the obvious in their situation.

“Not for long.” While that was true, it wasn’t good enough.

“Long enough.” Anya rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You’re going to regret it.” Yeah, probably, because jesus, the sounds Clarke made when she came…

Sighing, you went back to studying, and tried to block out all thoughts of your dorm room and Clarke Griffin.

*0*0*

In the grand scheme of things, putting up with Anya’s snarky comments was the lesser of two evils than returning back to your dorm room. Clarke was in your dorm room. Her dormroom. Your shared dorm room.

She was sitting on her bed, oblivious to your internal panic as you came in. She shot you a smile, always so stunning, and turned back to her laptop, letting you get in and get settled. You dumped your bag at the bottom of your bed, took your shoes off, and crawled onto your bed, another sigh escaping.

“Hard day?” Clarke asked, turning to you again, and you tilted your head to see her better.

“Hard study session,” you murmured, your brain feeling slow and sluggish. “What did you get up to?” Your mind tried not to think how Clarke wasn’t dressed, donning sleep shorts and a t-shirt, and how good she looked like that.

“Mostly napped. I did read a few chapters for one of my classes, but as you can see, I haven’t made it out the bed.” This hadn’t been the first time you’d come back to your room to find Clarke like this, and in the past few weeks, it seemed to be happening more and more often.

“Everything alright?” It wasn’t your place, but you felt concerned, and you wanted to offer up any support you could.

“Yeah,” Clarke signed, shooting you a reassuring smile. “I just need to start organising what I’m going to do next year, and how I want to spend my summer, and I really could do with life having a pause button.” Likewise. “It’ll pass, I just need to find my stress release,” she added, and you nodded, trying hard not to receive flashbacks of the night before.

“If I can help in any way…” you began, trying hard not to think of the ways you wished you could have helped.

No Lexa, no.

“What do you do to release stress?” Clarke asked.

Trysts with girls in bars, in empty lecture halls, in the library, anywhere really, to break the pattern of stress and anxiety. Fifteen minutes, both of you satisfied, and you could go another few weeks without the need to have some girl up against a hard surface, fingers deep within them, and sucking at their neck.

But you weren’t exactly going to tell Clarke that.

“Anya and I go running.” That was partly true. Though you didn’t do that often.

Clarke nodded, and then shot you a quizzical look.

“Are you and Anya a couple?”

“A couple of what?”

“Are you dating?” she laughed, and you sat back, almost in shock.

“Anya and I?” you repeated, then shook your head after she had confirmed that, yes, she was asking if you and Anya were dating. “No. God no. Definitely not.”

Anya would kick your ass if she knew you had denied it so much.

“She turn you down?” Clarke teased, and you rolled your eyes. Please.

“We’ve never…okay, we have, but stupid sex isn’t the same as dating.” Perhaps that wasn’t something your roommate needed to know, but it was out there.

“So that your thing?” Clarke then asked, and you were frowning again.

“My thing?”

“Yeah, ‘running’ with Anya to help relieve stress.” The emphasis on running had you frowning, and then shaking your head again. No. Just no.

“We do actually go running,” you began, and you could still see the doubt in Clarke’s eyes. “We slept together at the beginning of the year, it was uncomplicated and easy, and we both have decided not to do that again.”

“Bad lay?”

“No,” you laughed, recalling that one night, and definitely not associating the word ‘bad’ with it, at all. “It was awkward afterwards, because neither of us wanted to date the other, so we opted to just be friends.”

“But that’s still your thing?” Clarke asked again, and you were back to being lost.

“What?”

“Sleeping with girls to relieve stress?” Oh. Right. Yeah. But did Clarke need to know that?

“What makes you say that?” That was a much safer response.

“You fucked my friend.”

Shit.

You had what?

Clarke started laughing, no doubt at your facial expression of awkward panic, and you ended up cracking a smile.

“I’d apologise, but I’m pretty certain I’m not sorry.” You never left telling the girls you were going to call, so it wasn’t like you had lied or let them down.

“No, no reason to. She certainly isn’t expecting an apology.”

God, this was going to be so awkward. Now you definitely couldn’t sleep with Clarke. She really was off limits. Way to fucking go.

“Well, yeah, that’s my thing,” you admitted, hoping that would move you away from whoever her friend was. You did not want to know. That would do no good whatsoever.

“Mine too,” Clarke said, licking her lips, and then giving you a smirk.

Jesus.

She turned away, and you tried to do the same, tried to find something to do that was going to distract you from thinking about her.

And then she pulled you back in.

“Lexa?”

“Clarke?” you replied.

“Last night…did you sleep well?” You paused, frowning, holding in the panic. Did she know?

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought I might have woken you up,” Clarke said, her voice calm, collected, so unlike yourself at that moment.

“Laptop fall off the bed again?” you joked, hoping she would not hear the waiver in your voice.

Clarke rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m glad I didn’t wake you.”

Christ, if only she knew.

She could never know.

*0*0*

Later that night, you crawled into bed, ready to put the day behind you. You couldn’t help but glance over to Clarke, who had already gone to sleep, and was relieved to see that she was sound.

God only knows you couldn’t have dealt with another escapade like the one last night. It would put you in an early grave.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Clarke was out to kill you, because you woke again, in the middle of the night.

It wasn’t a thump that woke you this time. You weren’t actually sure what woke you, but you found yourself awake, fighting off a groan, and suddenly being all too aware of a familiar noise.  There was that catch. That pant. That little whine Clarke made, exactly like the previous night, that had you weak at the knees.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

You sighed, louder than you meant to, and suddenly there was silence.

Shit.

She’d heard you.

“Lexa? You awake?” Clarke’s voice was so much huskier, breathier, than it usually was, and that shouldn’t have been such a turn on to hear, but it was.

God, you were going to hell.

Now you were faced with a new dilemma, Did you lie? If you were honest, what did you say? Yes, but I promise I’m not meaning to listen to you orgasm? What the fuck were you meant to do?

The sound of Clarke moving about in her bed made you close your eyes, pretending to sleep, but the sound of her feet hitting the floor, that had you awake and turning to look at her.

“What-?” You never got to finish your sentence as Clarke was sat on the edge of her bed, having taken a seat once she’d heard you speak.

“How long have you been awake?”

“A minute or so,” you replied, honestly, hoping not to make a big deal out of what was going on. You didn’t want to embarrass her, after all.

“And last night? How long were you awake then?”

Fuck.

Your silence made Clarke laugh, quietly, and you heard rusting again as she went to lie down.

“Let me guess, you woke to me in the middle of it, and listened until the end. Am I right?”

What did you say to that?

“Clarke, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Oh god.

“What?” you croaked.

“Did you enjoy listening to me, Lexa?” Her voice should not have been so alluring.

“Yes,” you replied, a lot breathier than you meant it to, and god, you’d taken the plunge, you’d been honest where you shouldn’t have been.

“I thought you were awake, I thought I heard you turn over.” She’d known? She’d really known? “It made it better, thinking you were listening, possibly watching.”

Holy fuck.

Then you heard it again, that slight catch of her breath, and your eyes shot over to Clarke’s bed. Having adjusted to the darkness, you could see exactly what you needed to. Her pale skin standing out in the dark, with one hand running over her chest, and the other down the front of her pants.

Was she actually…yes, yes she was, and oh God, your body responded instantly. You felt the need, the must, for release, and the longer you looked, the more your breathing became erratic, and the more your hips moved of their own volition.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch, or you going to get over here and help?” Clarke said, pulling you from your lust filled thoughts, and to the reality of the situation.

You did not need to be told twice, and you rolled from the bed, making quick work of the distance before, crawling into the bed next to Clarke. She shuffled closer to the wall, one hand still busy, the other coming to tangle in your hair, and in the darkness, your lips sought out hers.

The kiss was full of her panting, her tongue seeking out yours, kissing roughly, before she panted again, and God, you wanted to do that to her, to have her make those sounds for you.

Kissing her harder, stealing what little breath she had left, your hands moved, seeking out her flesh. You tugged at the sleep shorts, once, before getting a nod in between your kisses, and that was enough to have you tugging them down, further.

They weren’t going to be removed properly, they weren’t even going to go past her knees, there was no time for that, and Clarke certainly didn’t seem to be complaining about that. Instead, she moaned into the kiss, the vibration against your lips, making you groan back, kiss her again, and again, and now you were panting, feeling her hands turn on you, the slickness of her fingers grazing over your skin, and then they were in your mouth, and god, her taste.

Not wanting to push this out any longer, your fingers skimmed her hip bones, feeling them lift, seeking attention, friction, anything to relieve the build, and you were experiencing a similar situation with your own hips.

You could wait, however. All your attention needed to be on Clarke.

And it was, as your hand took over where hers had been, and you both groaned the minute you made contact. She was so, so wet, and you were torn between touching and wanting to taste, but Clarke made the decision for you, as she bucked up, her hand coming down, moving your wrist until your fingers were exactly where she needed them.

This, this right here had been what you were worried of doing; ending up knuckle deep, fifteen minutes of relief, and then nothing. You didn’t do follow ups with the stress relief trysts. But this was Clarke.

“I swear to God, Lexa, if you don’t give me what I want, I will kick you out this bed and you can go back to watching.”

“Not a chance,” you replied, dropping your lips to her neck, sucking and licking, allowing you to hear the sounds she made when your fingers finally entered her.

That first moment, where you both sucked in a sharp breath, suspended by the feeling of the other, only lasted a second, before Clarke’s hips worked the rhythm you were setting, and her hands wound up in your hair, on your neck, clawing at your skin, and making it so that without any direct stimulation, you were getting closer and closer and closer to release.

You’d tried your best to ignore the rumours of party animal Griffin, who gave the filthiest kisses, but now you were on the receiving end of those kisses, and holy hell, those rumours did nothing to explain how Clarke had you, metaphorically, on your knees. Her tongue, wet but not overly so, lightly grazing against your own, tempting you, teasing you, and you wanted to keep kissing her forever.

But at the same time, you didn’t, because you could feel her pulsing around your fingers, and you needed to hear her moan, hear her pant, her that all too familiar catch in her breath, and Clarke did not disappoint.

She dropped her head back, one hand squeezing your sleep shirt, the other reaching to clench the pillow, and she moaned, low, quick, before whining, and panting, quickly, for breath, before her body relaxed, and you could remove your fingers.

Then, you were sure the awkwardness would set in.

Not wanting to be presumptuous, or expect more from the situation than what it was, you got out of Clarke’s bed, letting her come down from her orgasm in peace, and returned to your own.

You were throbbing. You could feel your own body pulsing, desperate, to the point you were uncomfortable, but you weren’t an ass. You were going to bed, no doubt to pretend that none of that ever happened.

Less than five minutes later, Clarke climbed into your bed, kissing you into the pillows, sitting astride your waist.

“My turn,” she grinned, and yes, okay, absolutely.

She kissed you again, and even if this was only going to be a one night thing, you were damn well going to make the most of it.

*0*0*

Privacy, as it turned out, was overrated.

An accidental flashing here, stupidly ignoring the sock on the door there, getting drunk and forgetting about all the boundaries here, becoming comfortable with one another and getting changed in front of the other there.

All of it turned out to be nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

Accidental flashing? Tended not to be accidental, and to be an invitation for sex, without outright getting naked in front of the other.

Sock on the door? You had to start warning Anya and Clarke’s friends that you two were having sex. If they ignored it, that was their fault.

Getting drunk and forgetting boundaries? There really weren’t any boundaries left, and getting drunk usually led to some amazing sex, so no complaints there.

Getting changed in front of the other? The day in and day out, nothing out of the ordinary. The two of you were familiar and comfortable with the other. You’d kissed nearly every part of Clarke’s body, worshipping it into the early hours of the morning and more, while she’d done the same. So there was nothing to hide, nothing to cover up, that the other hadn’t seen.

And now, you could genuinely say, seeing Clarke naked was not an issue. No more fretting about it, no more worrying, because you had permission to see her naked, to help get her naked, to get naked with her, and you definitely didn’t want to go back to times before that.

Like you said, giving up your privacy was nothing, not when you got to kiss Clarke Griffin goodmorning and good night, and spend the hours in between in her bed.

Privacy be damned, this was so much better.

*0*0*


End file.
